


The First Night at the Observatory

by nutrig



Category: A Requiem Of Roses, AROR, Original Work
Genre: Depression, Flash Fiction, Loneliness, One Shot, Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:21:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28071612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nutrig/pseuds/nutrig
Summary: Harp realises how alone he is, and finds solace in the stars.
Kudos: 1





	The First Night at the Observatory

**Author's Note:**

> A tiny thing for Harp because it’s 3am and I have a brainrot

Harp braided his hair today. His fingers, long and blistered, work through the auburn locks with ease. The rings under the bard’s eyes are as dark as his irises. His skin, tender and scarred, stung at the edges of his eyelids. He had been crying too much lately, it was beginning to rash. 

He lays in his bed. It certainly felt like his own bed at this point. The last time he spent more than a week using the same room must have been back at the Academy. Similarly, the Dreamscape was just as unforgiving as Harp’s education was. Well... no. The Dreams were worse.

How long had it been since he arrived? Months? And so much had happened... yet he couldn’t wrap his head around majority of it. Harp spent hours with the others, just to learn it all a farce? What about Jondrette... what about years ago, when she pulled him from the edge of a building? What about when she made them both breakfast in the mornings while he showered? What about having a best friend...?

But he could feel it in him. It was fake. It was all fake, and this was what was left of him. A musician without friends to sing to, or about. And he never had any to begin with. Why, he’s never needed anybody else. He’s always been content being alone. Sure, he slept around. But that was for other things. Money, lust, favours. Never because he needed it. He’s never needed anything but himself and his lute.

And that lute, Harp knew, would never turn its back on him. It never has, before. And it never will. 

He never needed any person.  
He was fine.

“Or that’s just what I tell myself,” Harp mutters bitterly. He isn’t sure what he’s doing now. It’s dark out, and he had no business being anywhere else in the manor. But still, he takes a pillow and two blankets, and he lets his feet take the lead. Down the hall, up the stairs. And the other stairs. And then, Harp finds himself in the observatory.

He used to sing to the stars as a child. He remembers that much.

He lies down on his back, on top of one blanket and under another, and he watches the stars with eyes as curious and vast as the night sky.

“Well, I’ll always have the stars to guide me.” He’s crying again but he’s not sure why, this time. Harp has always been alone. He’s never had trouble with it before.

The young man shuts his eyes, afraid that when he opens them again... this will all be nothing but a passing dream, too.


End file.
